


The Road Home

by Ruusverd



Series: Echoes of the Fall AU [26]
Category: Echoes of the Fall - Adrian Tchaikovsky, Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Bronze Age AU, F/M, Shapeshifters AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-29
Updated: 2020-08-29
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:41:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26176630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ruusverd/pseuds/Ruusverd
Summary: Geralt tries to deal with everything that's happened, somewhat hampered by the lingering effects from the day before. He pushes his avoidance skills to the limit, then proves he doesn't need to be able to speak to get into an argument. He and Yen open a conversational can of worms that they don't have the opportunity or ability to deal with on the road, so they agree to come back to it later.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Series: Echoes of the Fall AU [26]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1863010
Comments: 5
Kudos: 14





	The Road Home

**Author's Note:**

> tw: lingering mental confusion (though it's getting better), difficulty with speaking and understanding speech.

Geralt woke up feeling highly content, with his two favorite people in the world curled up with him in an almost-too-warm pile. He missed Jaskier, Plotka, and Little Hawk, but he could hear or smell all the others his wolf’s heart categorized as _pack_ nearby as well. And they were headed back to Elder Sea, where their missing friends would rejoin them.

His head was hurting less and his mind felt clearer, though things still felt a bit jumbled and he couldn’t understand what the others said yet. He wasn’t terribly alarmed by that, he’d lost the ability to speak and understand the first time this had happened and eventually it had righted itself. When he’d Stepped to the Champion for the second time he hadn’t expected to live to see the next morning, so he wasn’t going to complain about a headache and some lingering confusion.

Since there was no urgency on the return journey, the members of the warband traveled either Stepped or not, however they felt most comfortable. The novelty of Ciri’s new soul hadn’t worn off for her yet, and she spent most of the morning running around and between the others on wolf’s paws, practicing with her new form and trying to tease someone into playing.

One voice in Geralt’s mind wanted to tell her not to waste her energy so early in the day, while the other voice wanted to be lured into a game of chasing and play-fighting instead. Since he couldn’t speak to follow the first instinct, he decided to go with the second. Even the Wolf tribes knew this sort of play was important for young wolves, after all. When considered from that angle, it was clear he wouldn’t be doing his duty by her if he didn’t play. Or that’s what he told himself. He was aware that wasn’t a strictly normal way for him to think, but at the moment he didn’t care. He wished he could explain his reasoning to the others, because their expressions said they thought he was acting very silly indeed.

By the time they stopped for the midday meal, Geralt was panting heavily and even Ciri's youthful energy seemed to flagging. He flopped down next to Yennefer and shoved his head under her hand, demanding affection. He felt he deserved some praise after working so hard all morning playing with Ciri. Yennefer petted his ears and neck and spoke to him in an amused, teasing tone. He was pleased that he could understand a word here and there, though her general meaning still escaped him. He wagged his tail and looked up at her, seeing concern on her face despite her lighthearted tone.

He knew the rest of the group was probably worried about him staying a wolf so long, but he didn’t have any particular desire to Step back. For one thing, he didn’t know if his human form had been further distorted by a second encounter with the Champion, and he didn’t want an audience the first time he Stepped back just in case. For another, there were too many things he didn’t want to think about yet, and the wolf let him put it off.

He couldn’t stay in this form indefinitely, though. If nothing else, their trail rations were more suited to a human stomach than a wolf’s, both in composition and quantity. He could have gone hunting for his own food, but after so long Stepped with his already muddled mind, the thought of hunting made his wolf instincts rush to the fore with alarming strength. He didn’t want to lose himself to the forest over something as inconsequential as a rabbit.

Lem took over playing with Ciri when they started moving again, her Hyena not so different from a wolf as to make much difference in their games. Geralt gratefully fell back to walk with his brothers, who were also traveling Stepped. Now that he wasn’t running around and play-wrestling, Yennefer rode with him she usually did when they went any significant distance. Her current form was light enough not to be a burden, and he liked the security of feeling her draped around his shoulders.

Having his brothers around him in their wolf shapes made him feel more comfortable, but they also made his wolf mind stronger. He kept forgetting where exactly they were headed, beyond that they were going to meet their missing pack members. By the time they stopped to make camp for the night he was having to actively fight against the part of his mind that saw their party only as a group of human hunters and wanted to run away. He wasn’t sure anymore how much of his confusion was due to his ordeal with the Champion and how much was just the wolf clouding his mind. He knew he couldn’t delay much longer, or he wouldn’t be able to Step back.

He trotted off towards the stream near their camp, trying to look like he was just going for a drink. When he was sure he was out of sight he Stepped, slowly and with significant effort. He sat for a minute, gathering the courage to look down at himself. He sighed in relief when he didn’t see anything different. The surface of the rocky stream was too full of ripples to cast a clear reflection, but he ran his fingers over his face and didn’t find anything new or unfamiliar.

He jumped when he heard someone walking up behind him, and turned to see Yennefer. He hunched his shoulders, feeling vaguely guilty like he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t have, though he wasn't sure why. But she was smiling at him and didn’t look upset. She came and sat next to him where he was crouched on the ground.

“You — time — back, I was — getting — you,” Yennefer said, smile dimming slightly when he stared at her blankly.

He knew there were other words in there, but they just sounded like garbled noise. It wasn’t so much that he didn’t understand particular words, it felt more like his ability to comprehend words at all was flickering in and out. He opened his mouth to tell her he couldn’t understand, then paused when the words wouldn’t come out. He snapped his mouth closed with a huff, then looked away, embarrassed. He saw a stick on the ground and without thinking he picked it up and scrawled _I don’t understand_ in the sandy soil by the stream. Then he stopped and stared at what he’d written in surprise.

Writing in the north was rudimentary at best and reserved for the priests. Their writing system, such as it was, was composed of individual runes that came in two varieties: symbols that stood for abstract concepts such as “courage,” “danger,” or “protection,” for ceremonial purposes or leaving coded signs for other priests, and symbols that stood for perfectly mundane things like “cow,” “fish,” or “salt,” followed by tally marks for keeping track of what the tribe had and what they needed more of. Anything more complex than that had to be memorized and communicated verbally. That was why crimes such as Jaskier’s, deliberately altering his tribe’s oral history, were treated so seriously.

Writing in the south was different, more flexible. They could write whole stories, detailed instructions, and thoughts just the way they would be spoken aloud. Geralt hadn’t learned to write with southern characters until he’d gone to Atahlan with Yennefer; it seemed odd he’d be able to read and write but unable to understand speech. On the other hand, he hadn’t known how to write at all when this had happened the first time, so for all he knew it was perfectly normal. Or as normal as any of this could be.

Yennefer took the stick and wrote in neat characters underneath his untidy scrawl. _You don’t understand_ _anything_ _?_

Geralt wiped the words away to make room for him to write. _A few words here and there. Not enough to make sense of. Better than earlier, though._

 _That’s encouraging. Is that why you stayed Stepped so long?_ She looked at him keenly.

Geralt shrugged. _Partly. Thought I might have changed more. Did I?_

Yennefer shook her head. _Not that I can see._

Geralt thought for a minute, trying to decide which of the many thoughts and questions buzzing around in his head was most important. He looked around to make sure no one was coming before writing again. _I saw_ _my_ _s_ _erpent soul in the Godsland._ _Just for a second, but I saw it. It’s still there_ _._ He looked at Yennefer, expecting to see surprise on her face but seeing none. Instead she seemed to trying to gauge _his_ reaction. He felt a sinking sensation. He didn’t need her to write or speak to know what that meant. She’d known all along, and she hadn’t told him. He broke the stick and threw the halves into the stream, glaring at her.

Yennefer looked at him chidingly and picked up another from the ground. _Our souls are bound_ _together_ _, of course I knew what sort of souls they were._

Geralt closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to rein in his temper. It wasn’t Yennefer’s fault he had somehow not noticed the snake for so many years. He should have known from the first time he’d worn the Champion’s form. It had left him with a snake’s eyes in a wolf’s face, but he’d never thought about what that meant.

Yennefer wouldn’t have kept it secret from him out of malice. He knew his mate well enough to know that her whole life and training as one of the Serpent’s priests had revolved around the strategic management of information, deciding what knowledge others needed to have and what they would be better off without, speaking only when logic dictated the benefit outweighed the potential for harm. She must have had a reason to think he was better off not knowing about his own soul. Or souls, as it turned out. He still thought she should have told him.

He took the new stick and jabbed angrily at the sand. _Why didn’t you tell me?_

Yennefer pursed her lips, thinking. _Talking about it_ _would have upset you. You couldn’t_ _have_ _Step_ _ped_ _that way anyway._ _Too many problems if anyone else found out._ _Other_ _reasons, too long to write out._ She erased what she’d written and replaced it. _It_ _didn’t ma_ _tter_ _._

Geralt wiped away “didn’t” and replaced it with “does.”

Yennefer huffed, erasing the same word and replacing it again. _Doesn’t._

 _Does._ He circled the contested word.

_Doesn’t._

They struggled over possession of the stick for a few seconds, glaring at each other, then paused and started laughing when the absurdity of the situation hit them both simultaneously. An Iron Wolf and priestess of the Serpent fighting over a stick and some words scratched into the dirt.

As their laughter faded Yennefer released her hold on their makeshift writing instrument and spoke aloud. “Why — matter? You — able to Step —.”

Geralt wiped their writing away and then paused, frustrated at being restricted to such short lines. He didn’t know how to explain concisely that he didn’t care about the Stepping at all. He cared about what the snake soul meant for their shared rebirth. Their souls were bound to die and be reborn together, but Snakes and Wolves weren’t reborn the same way. Snakes, through some magic even they didn’t fully understand, came back at the age of first Stepping with their minds and at least most of their memories intact. Wolf souls followed the natural pattern: they went to the Godsland to rest and forget, then they were born into fresh new lives as human infants or mute pups.

He’d seen priests when he lived with Yennefer at the temple that had freshly “shed their skin,” as they called it. For years he’d worried that Yennefer would be reborn as one of those children with rainbow-painted faces and wise, knowing eyes, and he would be reborn as an infant with no memory at all, or as a wolf pup destined to live only a handful of years before dying and taking her with him again without ever having really known her.

Yennefer was very young by the Serpent’s standards, not that much older than he was, for all she appeared to be a few years younger. She’d only had one life before this one, and though she never discussed it with him he knew that life had been short and unhappy. For this life they were well matched in apparent and actual age, but he worried that the difference in their lived experience would grow wider with every lifetime that she remembered and he forgot, until someday she resented being tied to someone so much younger than herself, who would never remember more than a fraction of their shared lives. But if he had a snake soul...

 _H_ _ow will I be reborn?_ Geralt settled on. _As a Wolf or as a Serpent?_ _Both?_

Yennefer looked surprised. _I don’t know. I never gave it much thought. I knew we’d be together and assumed we’d just find out how when the time came._ She gave him an apologetic glance as she wiped the words away. _I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. There were reasons why I didn't, but I should have anyway._ _  
_

Geralt scowled, but felt his anger deflating. He knew she hadn’t meant to hurt him, whatever her full reasoning might have been for not telling him. Sometimes she forgot that not all the world had been raised to trust the Serpent’s judgment above their own, and sometimes her training was just too well ingrained for her to notice. It was part of who she was, just as much as his own scars, physical and otherwise, were part of him.

He leaned forward to write, then hurriedly scuffed the words out when running footsteps approached them.

“Geralt! You — again!” Ciri jumped on his back and hugged him from behind. “Eskel was getting — drag you — you didn’t — soon!”

Geralt understood enough to fill in the rest by context, and gathered that Eskel had planned to drag him back to his human shape if he didn’t Step back soon of his own accord. His second attempt at speech was no more successful than the first, but Ciri didn’t seem to notice or mind. He and Yennefer had another silent conversation of expressions while she chattered in his ear.

 _I’m still angry and hurt, and I will be for a while,_ his face said, _but I love you and I know you didn’t mean to hurt me._

 _M_ _y reasoning was sound,_ Yennefer’s said, _but I_ _was_ _still_ _wrong and I_ _understand why you’re angry. I love you and I’m sorry I caused you pain._

They both knew they would have to talk about the whole matter again in more detail, preferably when Geralt had recovered more and they weren’t limited to short lines written on the ground, but for now it was enough. Geralt let Ciri tow him back to the camp, and put up with the others’ exaggerated cheering at seeing him human again with good grace. He saw enough genuine relief in their eyes to know the cheering was only half teasing.

To save everyone worry he slept without Stepping that night, curled up with Yennefer and Ciri as they had been the night before. Sleeping on hard ground was definitely less comfortable for a human than it was for a wolf, but this was good too, he decided. He still had his family and most of his pack around him, his mind was getting better, and they were one day closer to home and the few friends still missing.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm going to try to stick to my usual posting schedule, but the next few days are going to be very hectic. So if I miss updating tomorrow and/or Monday don't worry, I (probably) haven't died.
> 
> Edit: Well now AO3 is taking out words here and there instead of just spaces, or else my copy/paste function is behaving badly. I think I fixed everything, but if something still looks weird that's probably why.


End file.
